


At Last

by BrenanaBread



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Ladrien June, Ladrien June 2019, at last au, ghostwriter AU, ladrien, songwriter au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-06 08:43:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19059184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrenanaBread/pseuds/BrenanaBread
Summary: Marinette is the best selling author Ladybug, in search of inspiration for her next story and completely taken by the lyrics written by the talented songwriter Adrien Agreste. When she discovers he not only writes at the same coffeeshop she frequents, but is obsessed with her novels, they start a tentative flirtation.





	1. Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> “In deep anticipation  
> Of a day that she had written  
> And by her own admission she’d be picked up, kissed, and twirled”
> 
> -Jukebox the Ghost (At Last)

Fingers trailing along the spines of her books and teeth wearing divots into her bottom lip, Marinette slowly wandered the  _Best Sellers_  section of the small bookstore. **  
**

Her flats tapped the wooden ground in soft, stunted pats, echoing the noise of her fingertip as it fell from one spine to the next.

The store wasn’t usually this quiet when she visited, but Marinette had forced herself out of bed early to get to the shop right after the doors opened, hoping to wrest inspiration from her past successes in the muted atmosphere.

She found the silence only enhanced her inner monologue, a reminder that she’d never live up to expectations, a plague chipping away at her confidence and feasting on the underbelly of her fledgling ideas.

She longed for the chatter of regular customers, the commotion of books being pulled and reshelved, the squeals of children asking to pet the shop owner’s cat, the clanging of an old register opening unexpectedly and being slammed shut in annoyance. Anything to expel the thoughts which saturated her mind, suffocating creativity and motivation in their desperate bid for life.

Pulling out a book, Marinette’s eyes traced down the cover, following the sleek swirls of script of her printed name:  
  
_Ladybug_  
  
The deep red lettering shined across the bottom of the cover, a constant for all of her novels. It was modes **—** she’d never allow it to overshadow the beautiful artwork adorning the jacket **—** but written in her signature style, a font directly mimicking her own handwriting, embellished with a tiny ladybug sketch.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to take comfort in her anonymity. Her life wouldn’t be over if her next manuscript was only remembered as kindling that kept her editor warm on long nights. Her family would still love her. She would still have her friends. She could still find work. Any public humiliation would fall upon her professional persona instead of on her personal life and she could handle that.

Opening her eyes, she ran her hand underneath the front cover and flipped the book open slowly, careful of keeping the spine stiff and pristine as her fingers danced through the pages looking for a particular section.

She didn’t make a habit of rereading her books once they’d been printed, actively ridding herself of any copies her publisher sent her and stashing away the draft files into the most remote corner of her computer. A published novel felt more like a frustratingly unchangeable draft than the perfection she longed for it to be and avoiding the reminder of the sentences she could no longer rephrase and the word choices she could never tweak kept her from spending all her time stuck in her past stories.

But some days, when her mind spun particularly cynical tales of rejection and disillusion, she needed to remember the magic of a love story. It was all too easy to sink into the hopelessness of modern adulthood, but she’d claw her way out of that trench any way she could, even if it meant rereading a story she’d sworn she’d never.

She almost skipped the passage she was looking for, eyes flitting hurriedly across the pages to avoid reading more than necessary, despite her practiced fingers turning each page with caution. She stopped by mere chance, gaze catching on a piece of dialogue that settled like a rock in her stomach.

Marinette devoured the page, unable to savor the story on her palate as she was reminded of the whirlwind romance set before her.

She could  _hear_  the drumming of sneakers on sidewalk as the female lead ran towards the love of her life,  _fee_ l the skirt of her dress skimming along her thighs. Heart beating wildly, Marinette couldn’t help herself as the anticipation built, characters meeting toe-to-toe, before finally making contact as the protagonist was picked up in a strong and gentle embrace, kissed soundly, and spun around. Her legs kicked up behind her in their whimsical twirl, long hair wrapping around the couple in a tangled mess, neither caring about the cars blaring beside them nor the dog barking at a squirrel across the street. They were completely spellbound, engrossed in each other’s presence.

They only pulled apart for a moment, noses still touching and breath mingling between them, long enough for her to smile and whisper “at last” before their lips were upon each other once again.

Marinette closed the novel with a muted thump and rested her forehead on the bookshelf in front of her. She couldn’t even remember writing the scene. It felt foreign. Like when her parents would tell stories of her childhood, expecting her to remember the time she crawled into a flour bag as a baby or stealing her mother’s lipstick when she was four.

Realistically, she knew she had once been a romantic at heart. She’d daydream and write, getting lost in her thoughts for hours on end. And truthfully, she missed it. The wonder and exhilaration of two people **—** fictional or otherwise **—** finding each other and fitting together perfectly. The potential in every first meeting, a future budding in each prolonged touch and lingering stare. But no matter how much she pushed, she couldn’t muster the anticipation that had once driven her creativity.

She felt stuck, unable to write anything convincing or interesting.

But she had deadlines. Novels needed to be written, and apparently, she had to be the one to write them.

Marinette sighed, placing the book back on the shelf and wishing the shop owner a good day as she practically sprinted out of the store.

It was a short walk to her favorite coffee shop, and when the door creaked as she entered, the only other patron’s head shot up from where it was buried in a stack of loose papers.

Vibrant green eyes locked with hers and she felt goosebumps rise along her skin, the wispy hair on the back of her neck standing to attention.

Their eyes stayed connected for just a moment too long, but the rapidly increasing thrumming of her heart made the time feel both endless and troublingly short.

It sparked a twitch in her fingertips and she’d slid into a booth only a few away from his with her laptop pulled open in front of her before she’d even taken her next breath.

Marinette didn’t know why, but those eyes _those eyes_  had inspired something within her. A story which needed to be written with an urgency she hadn’t felt in far too long. Her skin prickled with nerves like hair standing on end before a thunderstorm and she reveled in the bout of nerves rushing her system.

This **—** whatever it was **—** promised to be good.


	2. Famous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover how a boy in a coffeeshop feels about Ladybug.

Her fury of inspiration came and went in waves.

Some mornings, she’d stride into her coffeeshop with scenes and snippets of dialogue whirling through her mind, begging to be written, practically torturing her if she let them fester for too long.

Other times, it felt like stripping off her skin one layer at a time.   
  
She’d forget her characters’ positions. Their motivations would get lost somewhere in the translation between her mind and the page. The plot would derail and she’d write the start of the day in winter but by nightfall her characters were basking in a warm, summer breeze. 

The push and pull of genius and idiocy was maddening. 

She found solace in the kind eyes of the boy with pencil stains permanently marking his fingertips and a chaotic mess of papers taking up an entire table. His blond hair often fell in disarray after his second cup of coffee and the grey marks which dotted his forehead when he vainly tried to fix it never failed to make her smile.

She’d subconsciously begun to add him into her warmup drabbles. It was subtle at first, just a random faceless man, only consistently recognizable by the angelic halo of blond hair she couldn’t help but detail each and every time he appeared. And then he became the protagonist’s best friend—once giving an impassioned speech about the merits of adopting kittens—before he solidified himself as her go-to love interest. 

She wasn’t really sure how it happened. Her main character was sitting on a sloped rooftop, hugging her knees to her chest as rain lightly drizzled, lumping the hair on her forehead and cheeks in awkward clumps, when he appeared out of nowhere. Soundless as a cat, he was next to her, wrapping an arm around her back and pulling her to rest her head on his shoulder. She was crying as he held her close, comforting her with a hand rubbing circles into her skin and whispering promises of how they would take care of each other, and Marinette had to look away from her laptop to shake herself of the attachment she was growing to this 1,000 word piece destined to never see the light of day.

Though he’d already thoroughly caught her attention without ever having engaged in a verbal interaction, it wasn’t until he took a particular phone call that she’d realized how entirely his presence was filling her world.

She’d been debating with herself about ordering another tea when a ringtone—actual sounds, not a vibration—startled her. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen anyone under 40 answer a phone that had  _actual music playing from it_.

It was this internal pondering—the flipping through memories like a recipe card file, searching for any time she or her friends had their phone on sound after the novelty of owning one had worn off—that kept her from catching the start of his conversation. She only tuned in when her ears caught a particular name.  _Her_  name.

Well,  _one_ of her names.

“—Ladybug does next!”

Her head snapped to his, ponytailed hair slapping her in the face.

He was silent for a moment, head tilted to the side as he nodded along to whatever was being said.

“I don’t think you understand. Their work is amazing. I’ve read their latest book at least three times already. And that was interspersed with rereading their other books as well.”

He wasn’t silent as he waited for the person on the other end of the line to finish speaking, instead humming along in affirmation and tapping his finger rapidly on the table in front of him.

She thought he sounded particularly melodious.

“Pff,” he said, puffing a wild piece of blond hair off his forehead in the process “Yeah right, I don’t even know how I’d get in touch with them.” His fingers drummed harder on table. “And I bet they’ve never even heard of me. Ladybug’s famous. Like really, genuinely,  _famous_. There’s no way they’d want to work with me. Luka, maybe, but I’m not the face of the game.”

He looked up and made eye contact with Marinette, her face flushing immediately as she rapidly began typing nonsense on her computer just to look busy. Her shoulders hunched and she tried to make herself as small as possible while still staying attuned to every word he spoke.

It wasn’t really a violation of privacy is he was talking about her, right? And he was doing it in public space. Could she really be faulted for having ears? She was just checking in on her market. Seeing what people really thought about her writing. There were no ulterior motives. Marinette was nothing if not a novelist with honor.

“I love you, man, but you seriously have no gauge for how famous people want their art to be treated. They use a fake name!” He realized he let his voice get too loud when the barista placed the coffee pot onto the counter with a little more force than strictly necessary. “They clearly want their privacy!” he whisper-yelled. “There’s no way they’d want to meet me, let alone listen to me go on and on about how inspirational I find their work.”

Without realizing it, Marinette had leaned her body towards him to better hear the conversation and nearly pushed her phone off the table before it shocked her out of her daze by vibrating.

“And to ask for their blessing in wri—”

She couldn’t hear the end of his sentence as her phone buzzed again.

“C’mon, there’s no way they’d be—”

Another vibration and her phone was just verging over the edge.

“—ven if they were, how would I ge—”

Her phone tipped off the end and she snapped out of her reverie fast enough to dive and catch it, jostling her laptop in the process and hitting her hips into the table hard enough to create bruises.

She muttered a curse under her breath, fumbling with the device hurriedly as she tried to answer it without falling over or injuring herself further.

Her face heated when she noticed the look of concern on his face as well as the faces of everyone else in the coffeeshop. She had not been subtle.

She slapped a hand to her forehead, hoping to hide her face from the worried stares and answered her phone without checking to see who it was.

There was only one person who called her regularly anyway.  
  
“Hello?” she answered, voice strained from the discomfort of being looked at by so many people.  
  
“You’re needed in the office. Come down as soon as you can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, I'm not going to be doing each and ever prompt for the month because some of them just don't fit. So next time will be day 4: model, skipping over day 3's prompt.


	3. Model

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette learns a bit about her mystery coffeeshop regular.

“You’re needed in the office. Come down as soon as you can.” **  
**

“No ‘hi, how are you, I’ve missed you, it’s been too long, let’s do lunch’?” Marinette quipped, rolling her eyes as she packed up her laptop and notebook, stuffing them into a side bag.

The woman on the other end of the line sighed in exaggerated exhaustion.“Hi, I know how you are, I saw you yesterday, and if you want I have some biscuits you can eat, but it’s no longer lunch time and I’m not sure what you’d want me to do about that.” At the rustling sound in the background, Marinette could practically see her agent in front of her, shuffling papers around her crowded desk and knocking her chair backwards as she fluttered about. “I’m pretty amazing, but I can’t turn back time.”

“Oh, you can’t? Well then what’s the point of having you,” Marinette deadpanned, walking out of the coffeeshop without making eye contact with any of its patrons.  
  
Her agent giggled, a tinkling, happy sound that brought a smile to Marinette’s face. “I like this Marinette. She’s very light on her feet.”

She smoothed a hand down the back of her skirt as she turned the corner away from the shop. The office wasn’t far. “You’re lucky I like you too. Who else would aid you in your sweets obsession?”  
  
“Yet somehow  _I’m_ the one who’s offering you food.”

“So you’re telling me those biscuits are  _not_  the ones I brought you yesterday? Hmm, interesting, maybe I don’t need to bring you baskets of food after all…”  
  
She fully laughed at that, the full-bodied one that meant her head was thrown back as she shook it, short, black hair tickling the tops of her ears. “Don’t you dare!”  
  
She sidestepped a puddle, lightly jogging to reach a crosswalk before the light turned green for oncoming cars.

“I mean, if you’re not eating them anyways I might as well…”

“Okay fine! You win! You are a blessing and I am truly lucky to have you in my life.”

Marinette hummed in approval, nodding her head resolutely despite the fact her agent couldn’t see it.

“You could even say…”

Marinette didn’t need to hear the rest to know she should groan.

“…I’m lucky as a ladybug…”

Choking back her laughter, Marinette hopped up the steps to the building. “You’re terrible, but I’m already here so I suppose there’s no backing out now.”  
  
She hung up the phone without waiting for a reply, she knew all she’d hear would be howling laughter anyway, and pushed open the heavy glass doors to the building that housed the office and scrambled up the stairs.

She smiled her hellos to those she recognized in passing, but didn’t stop to chat. She still wasn’t sure what had her agent asking her to visit outside of their scheduled meetings, but Tikki wasn’t known for being frivolous in her calls.

The door was open, but Marinette knocked to announce her presence anyway, stepping inside when she didn’t immediately spot the other woman.

“Hey, I’m here,” she called, taking her bag off her shoulder and dropping it on the seat in front of Tikki’s desk.

“Took you long enough,” Tikki joked, emerging from behind a file cabinet, tablet in hand. “We have a lot to take care of regarding your next book.” She walked quickly to her desk, her stride indicative of her poise and authority, but the warm smile on her face reminded Marinette that she was more than her agent. She was a friend, a mentor.  
  
“How much is ‘a lot’?” Marinette leaned an arm against Tikki’s desk, attempting to see over the smaller woman’s shoulder. “It hasn’t been that long since the last one came out, right?” She mentally tracked the previous months to confirm. “I’m not going to have anything ready anytime soon.”  
  
“I get that, I really do, but you have to understand that we’re under a lot of pressure here, and you’re our top selling author in this market. I need whatever you have, tell me anything about it.”  
  
Marinette shook her head, eyes glazing over. “I can give you everything, but I’m not even sure it’s a novel yet. It’s just something I’m working on.” She paced, not an easy fit in such a small space. “Well, a lot of things,” she amended. “I have a lot of unconnected stuff right now. I don’t know what story I’m trying to tell yet. I don’t know if  _any_  of this will be part of my next book.”

Tikki placed the tablet on the edge of her desk and sat on the corner, legs crossed delicately in front of her, as she grabbed Marinette’s hand, trying to steady her.

“That’s okay. This isn’t something anyone is going to hold you to. I just need something to tell the publisher.” She winced. “But if you think there’s a character in there who might make it into the final cut, that would make this a lot easier.”  
  
“This?” she raised an eyebrow in question,

“You didn’t think I’d call you all the way down here to chat about your story building, did you? Not when that could so easily have been done over email?”  
  
Marinette shrugged.

“Oh ye of little faith,” Tikki tsked, rolling her eyes. “We need a cover.”  
  
Marinette stood up straight and her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “A cover? Like a cover for the  _actual book_? When I’m not even sure what it will be  _about yet_?”

Tikki winced, standing up straight again. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”  
  
“How!”  
  
“It’s not the final cover, just a cover for the advanced reader copies. And if you like it and it does well, then  _maybe_  it’ll be the actual cover for the first printing.”  
  
Marinette’s eyes were still popping out of her head and she’d taken to pacing once again.  
  
“But that’s just a maybe!” she was quick to reassure. “We’re not putting that into the contracts.”

“Oh gee, thanks for that.” She shook her head.

“They just want to get ahead of this while they can. They have a deal with some modeling agencies and some photographers and they want to capitalize on it as soon as possible.”  
  
The tension in her shoulders made it impossible for Marinette to lie about her feelings on the situation. She’d worked too hard to get steamrolled so easily, and she hated the idea of some faceless higher ups thinking they had control over her writing. They didn’t, and she was determined to act by her own agency.

But she trusted Tikki. She knew her friend always had her best interests at heart. If Tikki thought this was the best course of action, it probably was. She knew far more about the industry than Marinette did.

“Okay, fine.” Marinette said, breaking the silence and blowing a puff of air out of her mouth. “What do I need to do?”  
  
Tikki’s face brightened. “Great!” She frantically tapped her tablet, settling herself next to Marinette so they could both easily see. “Are there any characters that you think might potentially make it into the final book?” She shook her head, correcting herself. “Not necessarily a ‘character’ per se, just a character design?”   
  
Marinette thought back to the current writing attempts that filled her laptop and could already tell where this was going. “Uhh—”  
  
“It doesn’t even have to be a main character!” Tikki continued, fingers fluttering about in a way that made Marinette nervous they would fall off. “Well, I mean it doesn’t have to be the protagonist, but it would be better if the character had some connection to plot, but they don’t have to be, like, the top person, does that make sense? Like—”  
  
Marinette placed her own hand on Tikki’s to stop the movement. “I think I know just the character.”  
  
“Perfect!” She opened a file and typed in a password. “What do they look like? Hair color, eye color, build, really anything.”  
  
Marinette frowned and Tikki misinterpreted her silence.  
  
“It doesn’t have to be exact, we just need the essence of the character,” she explained.

Marinette detailed him as best she could, but it felt wrong. Describing this character—whose look was based on a real person—felt like  betraying the confidence of someone she didn’t even know yet.

They flipped through a number of models, to the point where Marinette’s eyes started to glaze over and she couldn’t help the yawn that bounced from her to Tikki and back again.

“They’re all fine,” Marinette insisted, patting at her cheek to wake herself up.   
  
Tikki shook her head, still flipping through the photos, though with significantly less care than when she began. “No, we can find one you’re actually happy with. Something that fits. Maybe even inspires you.”

“God knows I could use that,” Marinette grumbled.

Tikki sighed. “I know this probably seems more boring than usual, but I really want you to be excited about this cover.” As she flipped through more blond-haired boys, not even paying attention, she failed to notice one that instantly caught Marinette’s eye. “Who knows, maybe it’ll even help you write, and there’s no pressure to keep it aft—”  
  
“Go back!” Marinette suddenly jumped, simultaneously trying to bring the tablet closer to her own face and keep it close to Tikki so she would flip faster. “Go back go back gobackgoback _goback_!”

“What?” Tikki automatically pulled away from her friend in confusion.

“Flip back!”  
  
When she did, Marinette brought her face as close to the tablet as possible, letting the photo take up her entire field of vision. She studied the blond-haired green-eyed boy, devoid of the pencil smudges and fringe in disarray she’d come to think as characteristic of his look, but definitely him.

“You never told me you were an Adrien Agreste fan,” Tikki smirked.

“What?” Marinette stared at her, bewildered.  
  
“Adrien Agreste? The model?”

She tapped her lip, thinking. “That name sounds familiar…”  
  
“Son of Gabriel Agreste, the designer? He used to model exclusively for his father, but they had a falling out at some point. He doesn’t really model much anymore.” Tikki looked up from the tablet, far away in her thoughts. “Come to think of it, I don’t know what he does anymore.”  
  
Marinette’s brows furrowed. “Then why do we have this shot of him?”  
  
Tikki shook her head. “He sometimes does photoshoots for small companies. I don’t know why. Maybe he enjoys it? Maybe he needs the money?”  
  
“Maybe he just wants to piss off his dad.” Marinette had only heard terrible things about Gabriel Agreste.

Tikki hummed her agreement. “So if you aren’t an Adrien fanatic, why this photo?” she asked. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great shot. Light, artistic, but not too indicative of what would be in the novel so you still have room to play around. It looks purposeful enough, but shouldn’t pigeonhole you.” She turned a bit and tucked a loose strand of Marinette’s hair behind her ear. “But you had a pretty strong reaction to it. What’s going on?”  
  
Marinette dropped the eye contact, it felt too intense. “He actually, um, was the inspiration for this character. This character design, I mean. I haven’t actually interacted with him at all.”  
  
“I’m not following.”  
  
“He’s just this guy who’s been showing up to my coffeeshop everyday. We don’t talk, but, I don’t know, it feels like we’re writing together. Like, we’re writing separately, obviously, but at the same time, in the same place,  _together_. I don’t know. It’s dumb.”  
  
Tikki hit her shoulder with her own. “It’s never dumb.”  
  
“And I maybe also know that he really likes Ladybug. Ladybug’s novels, I mean.”

“ _Your_  novels.”

Marinette flushed.

“ _My_  novels,” she agreed.

Tikki smiled slowly and a soft giggle escaped her lips.  
  
“What’s so funny?”  
  
“Well, if Adrien agreed to these photos, he probably knew which publishing company was contracting them. And if he’s so enamored with your books, he probably knows your publisher. So maybe he did this on purpose,  _hoping_  you’d eventually need him for the cover.”  
  
Marinette rolled her eyes. “That’s absolutely crazy, you’re reading way too much into this.”

“Maybe,” Tikki conceded. “But what are the odds a guy who adores your books becomes a regular at your writing spot of choice? And what are the odds you even find out about it? I’m sure there are tons of people you pass on the street everyday who love you and you never even know it.”  
  
Marinette frowned but didn’t stop her friend.  
  
“And what are the odds this boy happens to be the inspiration for the only part of your book you’re confident in right now? The odds he’s a model? That he happens to be in the potential photos for your future book cover?”  
  
“Advanced reader copy cover,” Marinette corrected, but the retort didn’t have the same fire it usually did.  
  
Tikki waved her hand, dismissive. “You get the general idea.”  
  
“What exactly is your point?”  
  
She smiled, wrapping an arm around Marinette’s shoulders and pulling her close. “Just that you’re one lucky ladybug.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you love how even when I'm skipping days I'm still behind??? Gotta love lovesquare months :P


	4. Damsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is the damsel and who's in distress?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! Leave me a comment and let me know what you think so far :)

The next morning, Marinette pretended not to notice her flaming cheeks and wavering steps as she entered the coffeeshop.  
  
She bought her usual tea, sat at her normal table, opened up her laptop and took out a notebook and pen the same as she always did, and she surely did not feel any need to glance up and see if a certain individual was also in the shop.

She had no desire to check if he’d noticed her entrance, no interest in comparing the angles of his face to the ones from the modeling shot, no part of her craving to see if the cheap lighting made his hair glow like a halo around his head the way the high-quality photoshoot lights did.

Nope, no impulse at all.

She resolutely stuck her nose in her tea, letting ginger fill her senses, closing her eyes and getting lost in the warmth and spice.

She  _ tried _ to, anyway.

It was a stunningly difficult task when the person she  _ definitely was not thinking about at all  _ cleared his throat and her head snapped to his in attention.

“Shit,” she mumbled as some hot tea splashed over the side of her mug and hit the back of her hand.

“I’m so sorry!” Adrien ran to the counter for napkins, his long legs making the trip in three easy strides. “That’s my fault, I can get you another one, I am so incredibly sorry, I really didn’t mean to startle you.” He blotted at her hand and her system was short circuiting in his presence.

“T-that’s fine.” She said, louder than she intended.

He shook his head, blond hair covering his eyes with every sweep. “It’s really not, I shouldn’t have come over here and bothered you like this, that was so shitty of me.”   
  
“No, no it’s okay, really.” She finally had the sense to put her mug on the table and take the napkins from him to wipe down the length of her forearm and soak up the tea that had gotten onto the table. “I’m a little clumsy. I was just getting a bit too cocky since I haven’t had an incident in a while. Really, this was just me paying my dues.”   
  
He smiled at that. “Somehow, I don’t think it’s fair you’re paying for my own mistake.” He moved closer to her, checking to see there were no signs of liquid that he’d missed. “It’s lucky that it didn’t hit your laptop, though.”   
  
“That seems to be a running theme with me lately,” she grumbled to herself but was pleased when he laughed.   
  
“It sounds like there’s a story in there.” He leaned his elbows on the table, chin coming to rest on his balled fist as his eyes sparkled in attention.   
  
Thinking to the blank pages on her laptop screen, she sighed.    
  
“I wish.” When he raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, she continued. “It’s not an interesting one at any rate.”

He looked like he wanted to press her further, but instead pulled himself back up to his full height and peered over into her mug. “I’d still really like to buy you another—tea, was it?”

“Oh, no, really not much spilled, please don’t.”   
  
“Are you sure?” he questioned, reluctant to let it go.   
  
“Positive, I promise.” She picked up the mug and took a sip as proof, offering him a small smile.   
  
“Don’t you mean, ‘ _ paw _ sitive, I  _ purr _ omise?’” he winked and she choked on the beverage. 

Did a literal model just make _cat puns_ to her for seemingly no reason other than to be a huge, adorable dork? Was she even awake right now? Was this real life?

He quickly sat down next to her, rubbing soothing circles onto her back and passing her some of the unused napkins he’d brought over before. “Shit! I’m so sorry, I thought it would be funny, god I really need to read the room, are you okay?”   
  
She continued coughing, blinking back tears and waiting until she could take some long, deep breaths.

“What?” she croaked.

He floundered, still rubbing her back although a bit more hurriedly than before. “I know a lot of people don’t like puns, but I’ve never had someone almost  _ die _ because of them, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

She waved him off. “No, no, I mean why cat puns specifically?”   
  
He looked down sheepishly and tapped her mug.

When she’d first moved out of her parents’ home, she’d found it lonely working at home. She didn’t have a roommate, didn’t know anyone who lived nearby, and though she visited her parents often, she didn’t want to spend all her time in their bakery. She was trying to live on her own, prove to herself she was independent, and falling into her old habits would only stall her progress.

So she’d write in parks when the weather was nice. She’d sit in public libraries for hours with her laptop in front of her, typing away and taking breaks by walking through the isles and picking out new books to read. She went to the mall, finding open locations she could sit and write in, taking inspiration from the crowds of people around her.

But eventually she found reasons to dislike all of them. The park was only viable certain times of year and when the wind blew, her notebook pages would go flying. Public libraries were sometimes so quiet she’d get distracted by her own swallowing. The mall was so busy and loud she could rarely concentrate. 

So she coffeeshop hopped. There were numerous coffeeshops on every street and she’d checked out all of them, from the one directly beneath her apartment with the terribly low lighting (and—most egregiously—no free wifi), to the Italian-inspired shop far away with the horrible tea and inconsistent temperature control.  
  
There was something wrong with every place she tried and she’d almost completely lost hope when she finally found her favorite place.  
  
She could remember stepping inside for the first time and being hit by the strong scent of good, hot coffee. The place was small, but there were lots of different spots to plop down with various types of chairs and tables. It wasn’t busy, but not empty either, and the whirring of an overhead fan kept the balance of noise pleasant.

What really sold her, however, was the artistry. The blackboard listing the daily specials was highlighted with small, intricate drawings, and paintings from local artists lined the walls. Even the mugs were hand-painted with different animals.

When the owner of the shop discovered she had a fondness for a short, fat mug featuring a Dubout-inspired black cat strolling along with a carriage full of kittens, he made sure all the baristas knew it was to be her regular.

She’d used the same mug everyday for so long, she’d completely forgotten its depiction until Adrien brought her attention back to it, and she knew her face must be rising in temperature once again.

“You’ve used that same mug every time I’ve seen you, I just assumed you really liked cats.”   
  
“Oh,” was all she could think to say.

The silence stretched between them as Marinette attempted to battle the color splotching her cheeks.   
  
“So, um, did you come over here for something?” she finally asked.

“You mean aside from trying to kill you?” His tone was teasing, but his brows were furrowed.

“Twice,” she added.   
  
“Right, aside from trying to kill you  _ twice _ .” He shook his head in disbelief. “Honestly, it’s a wonder you’re even talking to me now at all.”

“Apparently, my self-preservation instincts could use some work.”

“Clearly.”   
  
She really adored his smile. It showcased the dimple he had on one side of his mouth.

“So…?” she lead.  
  
“Right!” He scrambled to sit up straight, smoothing out the bottom of his shirt. “I actually came over here because my phone died and I really need to contact my friend and I was wondering if I could use your laptop to email him?”  
  
She looked at him questioningly and he misinterpreted her silence as hesitation.  
  
“I guess you could say I’m a bit of a damsel in distress.” He tried to look demure.  
  
Marinette shook her head. “You don’t want to text him?” She held up her phone as though he might not understand what she was talking about.  
  
“Oh, well,” Adrien’s hand came up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly and Marinette had absolutely no difficulty believing he was a model. “I actually don’t have his phone number memerized?”  
  
“You know what, fair enough,” she laughed and that eased the tension in his shoulders. “Yeah, sure, of course.” She turned the laptop to face him, screen having gone dark since they started their conversation. “Have at it.”  
  
Adrien clicked once and the screen came back to life, flicking to the almost completely blank word document she’d been staring at all morning.  
  
“A writer, hm?” he smiled and she her face flushed once again, a rather permanent state around him it seemed. “Anything I’d be familiar with?”  
  
This was her moment. She could admit she knew he liked her work, even tell him he was going to be the model on the cover of her next novel, but she couldn’t get her mouth to work. Her breath was caught in her throat and the moment passed.  
  
She made a noise of noncommitment as he pulled up a new browser window and logged into his email account, typing up a quick message to his friend.  
  
Once he was finished and Marinette could stop trying to look busy, he passed her computer back to her, their hands touching for the briefest of moments as she adjusted it in front of her.  
  
“Thank you, you really saved me.” He got up from his seat next to her and grabbed the dirty napkins to throw in the garbage bin when he walked back to his own spot.  
  
Marinette had always been an intelligent girl. She’d done did well in school, worked hard in her projects outside of academia, and generally had a decent sense of the world around her.  
  
So she definitely did not expect to say the single dumbest thing she could have said in that moment.  
  
His eyes went wide as soon as she said it. Her throat clogged just a moment too late. The tension between them sizzled like the moment before lightning strikes.  
 _  
“Of course! I’m happy to help, Adrien.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!! Some goddamned character interaction between those two!


	5. Working Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout of Marinette's slip

_ “Of course! I’m happy to help, Adrien.” _

There were lots of times in her life when Marinette wished for things she wouldn’t usually long for. She had occasionally wished for the fire alarm to go off when she was partnered with someone she really didn’t like for a project in school. She’d once hoped to break a bone to avoid having to dance in a children’s production. She’d even caught herself daydreaming about the apocalypse—all to get out of meeting with some higher ups about her first novel.   
  
However, she’d never quite as strongly wished for a sudden meteor to crash into Paris and kill everyone she’d ever met outside of that one moment. 

He smiled, but even she could tell it was awkward and forced.   
  
“I suppose the jig is up, then?”   
  
Marinette was fairly certain the heat in her cheeks was the leading cause of global warming in those precious seconds she couldn’t respond.

He shifted his weight between his feet and his fingers tapped rapidly against his pants in what was presumably once a melody, now twisted with anxiety.   
  
Adrien opened his mouth to speak again, but snapped it shut as his eyes struggled to find something to focus on. The sound of his teeth clinking together brought Marinette out of her stupor.

“R-right.” She shook her head to clear it. “I know you’re Adrien Agreste.”   
  
He hummed and the tapping of his fingers slowed.

“That’s not weird,” she continued “I promise.” She wanted to look him in the eye to convey her sincerity, but she was frozen in place.   
  
He was quick to try and pacify her, lowering himself so they were eye-level with each other and letting his voice fall into a soothing register.

“It isn’t weird, I get it. I just...didn’t realize you’d recognized me.” He shrugged. “You’d never commented on it in all the time I’ve been coming here.” He nudged her with his elbow, trying for playful to lighten the mood. “Didn’t realize you were a fan.”   
  
Her eyes widened and she scrambled to face him better. “No! That’s not it at all!” 

One of his eyebrows rose and she winced realizing how coarse her words were.  
  
“Not that I’m specifically _not_ a fan, well, I mean, I guess I’m really not, but not because you aren’t great—a great model I mean, of course—”  
  
His eyes danced in amusement and she was grateful for the hand of his that lightly rested on her wrist, a new tingling sensation on which to ground herself.

She took a deep breath, controlling the embarrassment threatening to bubble out of her chest in the form of an intense word vomit session. “I didn’t recognize you is what I’m trying to say.” She took another calming breath and he lifted his hand from her skin, resting his chin on his closed fist. “Not at first, at least. I only know who you are because your modeling shot is going to be on the cover of my next book.” She made a face and ducked her head, bangs covering her eyes from his view. “Well, maybe. I don’t know for sure that it’ll be on the  _ actual _ book.”   
  
He looked at her inquisitively with his head tilted, staring at her with unasked questions.   
  
She shrugged one shoulder sheepishly. “I haven’t really written it yet,” she half-whispered conspiratorially. “They want it out as soon as possible, though. No hiccups. So we picked a cover now for the advanced reader copy and hopefully it’ll actually  _ work _ .”   
  
“And you did this recently?” he questioned, face confused.

Marinette nodded. “Just a day ago.”

He hummed until realization flashed across his face. “Oh, your publisher must be the Miraculous company.”

She made a face, but noted he seemed clearly impressed. “Is that the only photoshoot you’ve done in a while or are you just a really good guesser?”   
  
His laugh was quiet, but so pleasant Marinette could feel tendrils of warmth bloom in her chest.

“I don’t model at all, really. Not anymore.” His voice turned wistful and his eyes lost focus as if no longer concerned with the present in front of him. “I actually only did the shoot because there’s an author I really enjoy and—I know it’s childish and silly—I hoped that maybe my shot would get chosen for their next book.” He exhaled heavily through his nose, coming back to reality. “I’m a bit of a fantasist.” He admitted, the hunch of his shoulders divulging his discomfort at his own optimism.  
  
“If you don’t mind me asking, who’s the author?”

It was a little unfair of her to ask, she knew. But it also felt awfully presumptuous to assume that just because he’d spoken so highly of Ladybug before that he was alluding to her now as well.

So she would pry. “Maybe it’s someone I know,” she added with a forced casualness she pretended he couldn’t see through.   
  
He perked up at that, genuine curiosity coloring his tone. “Do you talk to many authors at your publishing company?” 

Her smile was slightly shy and strained. “No, not really.”   
  
The teasing upturn of one side of his mouth was nothing short of devilish. “So are you perhaps secretly wondering if it’s you?”

Without realizing, she’d slid back in her seat, putting more space between them. She needed to breathe air that wasn’t glazed with the warmth of his breath.

She didn’t open her mouth for fear of tripping over her words, so Marinette let the silence balloon up in the space between them.  
  
Adrien dropped his head, the ends of his hair tickling his forearms as he rested them against her table.   
  
“I don’t really have anything to lose now, do I?” he spoke to himself. When he raised his face to look her in the eyes again, she felt a renewed sense of peace wash over her. “I’ve fallen in love with every book Ladybug has ever written. I’ve been dreaming of the opportunity to work with them for so long, I knew it was a longshot, but I couldn’t help but hope.”   
  
She couldn’t have stopped her lips from pulling up in a beaming grin if she’d tried.    
  
“Well, Agreste, I think it’s your lucky day.” 


	6. Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Adrien Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He was a fearful boy  
> Watchful of the earth  
> Worried that it might split apart  
> And he wouldn't even hear it first  
> That he'd be caught in some position  
> Like a broken, old physician  
> And worst of all he feared that it would hurt"  
> -Jukebox the Ghost _At Last_

Surrounded by emotionally distant family members and alongside friends whose development was stunted by shitty parents of their own, some might have found it a miracle Adrien learned to process his feelings at all.

This would have been, of course, a very shallow understanding of his situation. 

Adrien learned to value ideas, passions, and affections without much difficulty after the age of five. Corralled away in his room for hours on end proved painful for a child at first, but it slowly lost its cutting edge at the start of his tutoring.

Adrien’s father had been an affluent man, stranded between the desire to accumulate wealth without forming any meaningful bonds with the people around him and an intense infatuation with a beautiful model whose wit and charm swept him off his feet. He’d never before thought himself capable of forming a genuine relationship with another human being, instead planning on forging a convenient alliance with someone of a similar or greater social status than his own and wedding, with only thoughts of securing an heir to propel his actions.

Meeting Emilie, in all her shimmering blonde-haired emerald-eyed glory, uncovered a pin in his evening wear, stabbing him when he least expected it.

But even their relationship could never fully dissuade Gabriel from his goals. He found it was easy to convince his new wife of the necessity of homeschooling a child of such esteemed parents. And once she’d agreed to that, there wasn’t much her couldn’t persuade her of.

Only let their child play with children of carefully vetted parents? That’s only responsible.   
Have him follow in his mother’s footsteps and enter the world of modeling under the watchful eye of his fashion designer father? How precious!

Hire a personal bodyguard to watch his every move? Simply a nanny with muscles, nothing any other working parents wouldn’t do if they had the opportunity.

Adrien’s parents both agreed, it seemed, that his relationship with the outside world should be—at best—strained. 

At worst—nonexistent.

But growing up without the knowledge of what he was missing wasn’t difficult. Without comparison, his world was his normal and he had no reason to long for something more. Which was why when he was five years old and his soon-to-be-fired tutor handed him the first book he’d read on his own, his entire world shifted.

Nothing exactly  _ changed _ . He was still cut off from creating any kind of real connection with a human being outside of his immediate family, still monitored closely by every adult in his life, still entirely unaware of most of what society had to offer, but he was suddenly aware of his lacking. And this awareness was anything but trivial.

The book wasn’t anything particularly special. It was short with only a few lines per page and colorful illustrations cluing him into word meanings when his young mind came up empty.

Featuring three musical cats—one black, one blue, one red—a young Adrien discovered something entirely new.

“Excuse me, sir” Adrien paused in his reading, looking up into the reflective glasses of the older man. “But what does it mean,” he pointed to a word on the page and sounded it out slowly. “‘Songwriter’?”   
  
His tutor’s voice was gruff, but pleasantly so, like rolled oats covered in maple syrup. “It’s someone who writes songs.”   
  
His eyes grew comically wide, staring in wonder at the glossy pages. “And they do that?” His tiny hands ghosted over the cats’ smiling faces.   
  
He shook his head patronizingly. “Cats can’t write music, Adrien.”   
  
Adrien scrunched his nose. His tutor didn’t  _ understand _ . “But what does that  _ mean _ ?” he tried to better convey his question. “Do they exist?”   
  
“Songwriters?”

Adrien nodded so intensely, the clip holding his hair out of his eyes almost came completely undone.

“It’s a job some people have. They write music.” Seeing his student’s confused gaze, he continued. “Sometimes they just write the lyrics, sometimes the instrumental, sometimes both.”   
  
Adrien sat with that for a moment. He’d never considered someone had to  _ write _ the music his caretakers played for him. It just appeared. No one had ever told him how.

“You only have a few pages left, why don’t we try to finish before I leave?”   
  
The conversation dropped, but Adrien couldn’t help the way his mind rolled over the new information. Writing music sounded incredible. Creating something unique—that no one had ever heard before—out of thin air. 

So he kept reading. Anything he could get his hands on. He learned more about music too, eventually convincing his father of the importance of piano lessons and somehow even the elegance of classical guitar. 

And once Adrien no longer had a mother, words of all kinds kept him sane, kept him from the frozen ice tower others seemed to construct around themselves. The distance his father kept between them could never be bridged by Adrien alone, but he found loneliness was a less faithful companion when he had words on his side.

Books of all genres filled his room, piling up on shelves and hanging open over the side of his couch. Sloppily handwritten sheet music was used as the occasional bookmark or crumpled in overstuffed notebooks and folders as he explored the emotions and relationships he’d read about without ever having experienced himself.

His modeling career continued without any resistance, but Adrien longed for more.

Once he was given a computer and mostly uninhibited internet access, he started writing songs and uploading them, improving from strangers’ feedback and growing to love the conversation his music could spark.

Somehow—incredibly—he caught the attention of a rising star.

An artist only two years his senior but quickly rocketing towards stardom wanted to work with him. Set to open for Jagged Stone in only a year-and-a-half's time, Adrien was immediately intrigued by Luka Couffaine’s small band and offer of a lifetime. Knowing his father would never allow Adrien to risk his modeling career for a musical one, he chose to write behind the scenes, crafting music and lyrics without any hint of fame for himself.

It worked for them. And once they had a good enough lineup and additional songs for an EP, Adrien watched the band takeoff, knowing he played a hand in creating something magical. Something people would write articles about. Something a teenager would play alone in their room and finally feel like someone  _ got _ them. 

With the band on tour, Adrien once again lost himself in novels. It was his new routine. Write music, read. Write music, read. Write music, read.

On a particularly cold February 14th in the “read” portion of his schedule as Luka’s band had grown and was on their third solo tour, Adrien flopped onto a bed covered in Valentines from people he did not know. Though he’d read extensively on the subject of love, he was loath to believe any of those “confessions” held the sort of the emotion he was intellectually drawn to. He’d received them for years and attempted to draw any kind of inspiration from them, but they always fell short.

He rolled on his side and was stuck by something hard and pointy, hidden underneath the stack of red and pink cards.

A book.

Solid and elegant, the silhouette of a girl and a boy on the top of a hill, backs resting against a tree with leaves highlighted by the soft glow of a crescent moon, title artfully stretching across the night sky. And at the bottom of the cover, so small he almost missed it, one word in a loping script so unique he almost thought it had been handwritten on.

_ Ladybug _

A ripped piece of paper stuck between the cover and opening pages fluttered out as Adrien picked up the book to examine it further.

_ I know you’ve been looking for something new to read and from what I hear this author’s amazing. This time of year sucks and we’ll miss you on tour, but hopefully it won’t be too bad. We’ll call you soon. Don’t go insane without us. _

_ -Luka, Nino, Rose, Juleka, & Ivan _

It took mere moments to become fully engrossed in the novel.

He’d never read a world so immersive. He took it with him everywhere; to the dinner table, to photoshoots, to meetings where he’d smuggle it under the desk and read when no one was paying attention.

He finished it in two days, utterly crushed when the pages flipped to acknowledgements and the words ran out.

He fell in love with Ladybug’s writing so quickly, so thoroughly, so unconditionally that he honestly felt ruined for other authors. 

For years Adrien read every book Ladybug produced, devouring their words like an emotionally starved barnacle only kept from sinking when sucked into one of their written worlds.

Even with his connections, Adrien never attempted to discover Ladybug’s identity, letting them exist in society in whatever capacity they wished, though Adrien longed to form a connection with the person behind the words. Let them know how grateful he was for their contribution to the world. He’d written speeches in his head hundreds of times if he ever finally got the chance to meet Ladybug and shower them with his adoration. Sometimes the sentences would pour out of his mind so quickly he didn’t even think his mouth would be able to keep up if he  _ was  _ blessed by Ladybug’s presence. He just had so much to say.

This was why when finally confronted with everything he’d ever dared hope for in the form of a beautiful young woman staring up at him with too-blue eyes and a truth he couldn’t ignore, his silence was deafening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments from last chapter were really lovely and I am very grateful for each and every one of you who took the time to say something :)

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [jattendschaton.tumblr.com](http://jattendschaton.tumblr.com/)


End file.
